


The Barnacle

by LakeHermione



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Clones (Orphan Black), F/F, propunk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeHermione/pseuds/LakeHermione
Summary: Rachel Duncan moves from Boston, Massachusetts to bucolic Camden, Maine to finish her novel, paint and escape her mother. She finds her way to the Barnacle, a dive bar known for its food, and embarks on a voyeuristic study of the locals as research for her book—that is until the locals have other ideas.
Relationships: Rachel Duncan/Sarah Manning
Comments: 16
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some light Propunk. Oh and Sarah’s the Captain of a lobster boat! Can’t you just see her and Helena on Deadliest Catch?

Rachel Duncan moved to Camden, Maine six weeks ago with a plan. She would finish her novel, paint the idyllic scenery and most importantly escape from under her mother’s disapproving thumb. After completing her undergraduate degree in biology at John’s Hopkins in just three years, she’d gone to Harvard Business School and graduated at the top of her class. She then turned down several Fortune 500 companies and gone to work for her mother at the Dyad Institute, the large multinational pharmaceutical and medical research company that had been started by her maternal grandfather. To most parents Rachel’s sterling academic achievements would be an overwhelming source of pride, but Susan Duncan wasn’t most parents. She’d allow that Rachel was smart, creative, and insightful with data, but Rachel wasn’t good with people. As Susan was fond of saying, “Rachel, it’s not enough to make people fall in line, you have to make them fall in love.” Unfortunately, Rachel had never been able to do that in any area of her life—not at school, not at work, not with friends, not in relationships and least of all not with her mother. 

After an especially acrimonious dinner in which they argued over the direction of the company, her mother said the quiet part out loud and declared Rachel “the biggest disappointment of her life.” The next day Rachel resigned (it’s not like she needed the money) and hired a real estate agent in Camden to find a suitable property. She’d spent a summer there as a child digging in the clam flats and sailing with her father after her parents’ divorce and it was the last time she could remember feeling truly happy. Within a week she had closed on a small condo in a renovated 19th century downtown building with a lovely view of the harbor. The following week she moved without a word of explanation to her flummoxed mother. They hadn’t spoken since. 

She quickly settled into a routine of sorts. Most mornings she rose at dawn and went for a run along the harbor to watch the lobstermen in their orange coveralls set out for the day in their colorful boats bantering and calling out to one another with a relaxed familiarity that had always eluded her. She then spent the rest of the morning writing in a small coffee shop she’d found called the Mill. In the afternoons and evenings she painted the boats in the harbor and the scenery in and around Penobscot Bay. 

As the summer season wound down, the air grew chilly and the trees began their transition into a riot of color. The artist in Rachel was overwhelmed with beauty which was enough even though most days she had no social interaction other than holding the occasional door open, nodding hello to her neighbors and exchanging necessary pleasantries with the barista at the coffee shop. Of course, there was one exception of sorts. She had gotten into the habit of going to the Barnacle for dinner on Saturday nights. Not that she socialized, but it almost *felt* like she did because she’d made a study of observing the staff and the regulars--as character research for her novel—at least that’s what she told herself. 

The Barnacle looked like a wharf-side dive bar the likes of which can be found up and down the Maine seacoast and was not at all the sort of establishment that Rachel would normally frequent. It was, however, adjacent to an somewhat upscale restaurant called “Delphine’s on the Water” which turned out to be the only Michelin starred lobster shack in Maine. The reason--its sublime lobster roll was widely held to be the best in the state. The chef, Delphine Cormier, ran the restaurant. Her wife, Cosima Neihaus, managed the far more casual Barnacle next store. And while it was almost impossible to get a reservation at Delphine’s, the locals knew that you could sit at the bar at the Barnacle and order almost anything on the menu from Delphine’s. This was not advertised. 

The first time Rachel had gone to the Barnacle she almost turned around and walked back out. But she was foodie and keen to see what all the fuss was about, so she sat down at the bar since all the tables were full. She almost immediately regretted her decision when the smiley, dread-locked bartender had enthusiastically boomed “Welcome to the Barnacle. What can I get ya?” and set down a paper boat of popcorn. 

The Barnacle was all lacquered wood and brass and was decorated in typical Maine nautical kitsch. It had a loungey feel with comfortable red leather booths and black leather captain’s chairs that swiveled, an old fashioned, well-curated juke box and a couple of pool tables in the back. Rachel had peered cautiously to the top shelf expecting to maybe find a dusty bottle of Absolut, but was pleasantly surprised to see several varieties of Ketel One as well as her favorite, Grey Goose. She ordered a dirty martini, straight up. As Rachel watched the bartender make her drink with a confident practiced hand, she noticed the unusual savory aroma coming from the popcorn and decided to try it. It was sublime--salty, warm and lightly infused with lavender, chives and thyme with just the hint of lemon. 

As the bartender set down her drink, she gestured to the popcorn and said, “It’s good, right?” 

“Quite” replied Rachel. She took a sip of her martini. It was perfect. 

“Well,” smiled the bartender, “I’m Cosima. Can I get you anything else?”

“Is it true you can order off the menu from the restaurant next door?” 

Cosima cocked her head and smiled, “I can do that for you, but we don’t keep menus over here so you kinda have to know what you want.” 

“Alright, what would you recommend?”

“Well, obvs everything, but if it’s your first time, you gotta try the lobster roll.”

“A lobster roll it is, then.”

“Comin’ right up.” 

While Rachel waited she looked around the bar and began taking in the patrons. It was that distinctive mix of locals and tourists that was the hallmark of any well-regarded restaurant or bar in a vacation town in the Yelp era. About ten minutes later, Cosima emerged from a swinging door behind the bar and brought her the lobster roll. It did not disappoint. Rachel devoured it and politely asked for her check. 

“So… Rachel Duncan,” said Cosima as she paused to read the receipt, “are you in town for work?” 

“No” replied Rachel. 

“Vacation?”

“Not exactly.” 

Cosima furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. 

After an awkward pause, Rachel said, “I’ve just relocated.”

“Well, welcome to Camden! Where’d you move from?” said Cosima. 

“Boston. Thank you” said Rachel as she stood up, left a generous tip and began gathering her things to end the conversation. 

***

The following weekend Rachel returned to the Barnacle. The dread-locked bartender recognized her and greeted her with a smile, “Hey,….” then she began snapping her fingers on either side of her head as if to jog her memory. After a moment it came to her. “Rachel, right! Dirty martini?” said Cosima as she set down another paper boat of popcorn-- this time with a peppery, smoky aroma.  
Rachel demurred and asked to see the wine menu. Again, she was pleasantly surprised to find a carefully curated selection of interesting yet modestly-priced French wines that paired perfectly with the seafood. She ordered a glass of the Pouilly-Fuisse and a bowl of lobster bisque. It was all wonderful. 

After that, Rachel became a regular of sorts. She always came on Saturday nights. Always alone. And she always sat in the same place—at the bar, in the corner, by the wall looking out over the harbor. She looked forward to it all week and not just for the excellent food and drink. She never talked to anyone if she could help it, but she loved listening to them talk to each other and she took notes. She wrote down the stories they told and interesting turns of phrase she overheard. She imagined what their lives were like and what interested them. She guessed at their backgrounds and who they had loved. She knew it was a bit creepy, but she had sections in her notebook for each of the regulars and after several months Rachel knew quite a bit about them. 

Of course, there was Cosima the hippy dippy bartender transplant from San Francisco who could talk to a wall and had an easy smile for everyone. She seemed genuinely interested in everything which was probably why she had dropped out of UC-Berkeley after switching majors several times. She talked with her hands when she got particularly excited. She seemed to read people exceptionally well and very quickly picked up on the fact that Rachel didn’t care for small talk. 

After the restaurant next-door closed, Chef Delphine Cormier, Cosima’s stunning and impossibly glamourous wife would sit at the bar and sip a glass of red wine while she continued to work on inventories and her menu changes. Sometimes her subordinates from next door would come to speak with her about some problem with the restaurant. Rachel imagined Delphine was a formidable maybe even intimidating boss, but she was much softer with her wife. More than once, Rachel wondered how this mismatched pair ever got together in the first place. 

Then there was Beth Childs the sad-faced harbor patrol officer who came in after her shift (sometimes with her partner, sometimes alone) and talked quietly with Cosima at the bar while she drank more whiskey that was good for her and cracked dry jokes. 

There was Krystal (and it just had to be with a “K”), the vapid, bubbly blond hairdresser with a voice like a can-opener who came in to gossip with her friends, drank vodka sodas with a twist of lime and flirted shamelessly with everyone. 

There was the mildly depressing Hendrix family who arrived at 6pm on the dot every Saturday with the oafish husband who swilled beer and zoned out to the Red Sox games on tv while his tightly wound Stepford wife drank white wine and micro-managed their well-behaved children. Every once in a while the Stepford wife, whose name Rachel recently learned was Alison, would come in alone to meet Beth, the harbor patrol officer for dinner and drinks. It was interesting how it changed them both--Alison more relaxed and talkative and Beth quick to smile and laugh. Rachel guessed maybe they grew up together and had been close at some point, maybe more.

And of course, there were the lobstermen. It was against the law for commercial fishermen to pull traps after dark and the State banned commercial lobster fishing on Sundays during the tourist season, so on Saturday nights, they all came to the Barnacle to eat, drink beer and shoot the breeze. They were a rowdy group, well known to each other who laughed and shouted and bantered the night away. They had rough hands, wind-burned faces and smelled of fish and diesel fuel. And it seemed they more or less lived to one up each other with harrowing tales from the sea. Perhaps an encounter with an enormous whale pod that surfaced beside them and stared them down or maybe they nearly capsized while navigating a sudden storm or had to rescue some hapless tourists in a sailboat who ended up on the shipping lanes. Rachel liked to arrive before them as the sun was setting and they were steaming into the harbor to sell their weekly catch. Between her morning jogs and her nights at the Barnacle, it hadn’t taken her long to match the Captains and their crew to the individual boats. 

The first to arrive was usually Paul Dierden who captained the Castor, The Castor was a gun metal gray, brand spanking new, state of the art vessel that was easily twice the size of the other boats. Paul was under contract with some giant corporate seafood broker and had a large crew. He was handsome (she supposed) in a deeply boring and conventional way. He seemed like a decent fellow, but the others gave him a hard time because he avoided the deep waters and valued quantity over quality. 

Then there was Cal Morrison who captained a smallish black and yellow boat all by himself called the Queen Bee and fished for the local restauranteurs’ coop. He was tall and lanky with kind eyes, shaggy brown hair and a well-kept beard. He was easy-going and well-liked and lived on a houseboat in the harbor that was moored just outside the Barnacle. Towards the end of the night he would often step outside and share a joint with Cosima. No one cared. 

And then of course there were the infamous Manning sisters. Lobster fishing was a man's game but the Mannings more than held their own. Sarah Manning, was captain of the Janie Jones. Her boat was an older mid-sized boat with a faded but distinctive and classic blue and red paint job. Rachel had painted it several times before she knew anything about its operators. Sarah ran the boat along with her twin sister, Helena. Rachel quickly learned the Mannings were known for fishing only the deepest and most dangerous waters and they ventured out alone for days. They were said to know where every boulder and crag on the ocean floor was and always came in with the best catch much to the annoyance of their male colleagues, but especially Dierden. 

As Rachel watched them week after week, however, her fascination grew. Sarah dressed like the least reliable roadie in a rock band, had wild unkempt chocolate brown hair and spoke in a low growl with an English Estuary accent. Her identical twin sister Helena favored garish prints, had a wild shock of bleached blond curls that could be seen across the harbor and spoke broken English with a booming Eastern European accent. They had clearly been raised apart, but why? How had they found each other? How did they end up here? When they arrived at the Barnacle, Helena would immediately order enough food to feed a family of four and when it arrived, she ate with an indecent gusto that turned Rachel’s stomach. Sarah would order a pint of beer and seemingly ate as an afterthought picking off of Helena’s plates like a seagull. After dinner, Helena would retire to the backroom to play pool and sucker unsuspecting tourists into money games. She always won. At the end of the night, she’d roar off to god knows where on a motorcycle sometimes with her sister, but usually alone. 

Sarah would usually stay in the main bar to drink whiskey and swap stories with the other captains. Some nights she sat at the bar and chatted quietly with Cosima. Other nights she’d pound shots, dance with reckless abandon and make the rounds, chatting up both tourists and locals alike. She clearly had some sort of intimate relationship with Cal Morrison. On more than one occasion she’d seen them leave the Barnacle together, their intentions clear, but it was by no means exclusive. In fact, Sarah rarely left the Barnacle alone and her partners defied any sort of easy categorization—men, women, younger, older, high-brow, low-brow. If she had a type, Rachel couldn’t figure it out. 

If you had asked Rachel, why Sarah Manning fascinated her, she might have said it was the contradictions. Sarah was all hard edges when her face was in repose, but when she smiled it transformed and softened her entire visage. She could be charming or off-putting, prickly or amiable. She took up space in a way most women don’t. She was equal parts excellent and low, brash and self-effacing, disciplined and wild. It would have been SO easy to underestimate her. Most of all Rachel envied her social ease and the way she unapologetically took what she wanted, when she wanted it, but without being mean. And if she was being honest, in Rachel’s mind’s eye, the protagonist in her novel had taken on Sarah’s appearance and mannerisms.

***

As the months went by Rachel found herself content--happy almost--, making good progress on her novel, and still spending her Saturday evenings engaged in a pleasant voyeurism at the Barnacle. But in January things took an alarming turn as one by one the locals began trying to engage Rachel in conversation. She hadn’t encouraged them in the slightest, but it simply kept happening. First, it was Dierden. Rachel looked up from her phone one night to find him seated next to her beaming at her in what he clearly considered a winning way. 

“How’s it going?” he said in a practiced casual tone. 

“Pardon me?” said Rachel a bit flustered. 

“I’m Paul.”

“Hello, Paul.”

“And you are?”

“Leaving” said Rachel as she signaled for the check, her cheeks slightly flushed. Rachel could hear the table of lobsterman trying to suppress laughter. 

“You won’t even tell me your name?” 

“Sorry, it’s Rachel. I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just I simply must be going” she lied. Cosima set her bill down, quickly glanced over at Paul and then retreated to the other side of the bar to freshen Beth’s drink. Another round of mortifying snickering from the lobstermen ensued. Rachel dropped a pile of cash on the bill and quickly left the bar. 

The following week it was Krystal the hairdresser. As she sauntered by Rachel on her way back from the restroom, she abruptly stopped and began gushing over Rachel’s handbag. Rachel politely advised it was from a vintage store in Boston and turned back to her food, but then Krystal plopped down next to her, introduced herself and began a long rambling attempt to solicit Rachel’s business at her salon. Again, Rachel felt like the whole bar was watching them and began wondering the hell what was going on. Krystal, seemingly undeterred by Rachel’s monosyllabic answers, droned on and on about the organic, cruelty-free, sulfate-free, beauty products she stocked at the salon while Rachel plotted her escape. After a few minutes, however, Krystal cut herself off mid-ramble, muttered “whatever” to herself before tottering back to her friends who were staring shamelessly at the pair. 

The following weekend, no one bothered her until Beth, the harbor patrol officer, inquired whether she had seen anything suspicious during her morning runs around the harbor as there had been a run of equipment thefts off the fishing boats. Rachel advised she hadn’t seen anything and quickly took her leave. Then, towards the end of the night, Cosima of all people (who definitely knew better) attempted to engage her in a discussion about wine and food pairings. Rachel politely spoke to her for a several minutes on the subject before pretending she had to take a phone call outside. When she came back in a few minutes later, she told Cosima she had to go and asked her to box up her meal.

On and on it went as one by one all the locals seeming took turns trying to engage her in conversation. It was so tedious and strange. She had done nothing whatsoever to encourage them. If they didn’t cease and desist she felt she had no choice other than to stop patronizing the Barnacle. And then one night she turned around and found one Sarah Manning sitting on the barstool beside her ordering a whiskey on the rocks. While Cosima fetched her drink, Sarah turned towards Rachel and growled, “That your diary?”

“Excuse me?” Rachel stiffened. 

“You’re in here every weekend and you’re always scribbling away at stuff. Is it your journal or somethin’?”

“No. Just some notes.” Rachel could feel her neck flushing red. Sarah was way too close. 

“Notes for what?” 

“A book” said Rachel somewhat peevishly.

“Oh, so you’re a writer. What’s your book about?” Sarah took a big slug of her drink. She seemed buzzed but not exactly drunk. She smelled like sunscreen and the sea. When she made sustained eye contact, Rachel could feel it in her legs.

“Clones” she said. 

“Clones?” snorted Sarah, wiping her mouth. 

“Yes. It’s about a women who steps off a train and sees someone who looks exactly like her and comes to find she’s part of massive human cloning experiment.”

“Sounds, weird” Sarah chuckled, “So it’s like science fiction, then yeah?”

“Not exactly. Now, if you’ll excuse me I must be going.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” said Rachel nonplussed. 

“Why do you have to leave? I think you should stay and have a drink with me.”

“I really must be going.”

“So you said.”

“I’m a rather private person.”

“So why come in here every weekend, sit at the bar like a bloody gargoyle and stare at all of us? Why do you run off anytime one of us tries to talk to you?”

Rachel sighed and put down her fork, wiped her mouth and signaled for the check, “Sorry to have caused any offense. You won’t be seeing me again.” 

“Don’t leave on my account. I was just trying to be friendly,” shrugged Sarah as she drained the rest of her drink. 

“Right” said Rachel as she paid her bill, gathered her things and left. 

Sarah made eye contact with Cosima who gave her a “what’re ya gonna do” shrug. Sarah hesitated for a moment, smirked to no one in particular and followed her out. 

“Rachel, wait.”

“What now?”

“I can make it stop.”

“Make what stop?”

“People trying to talk to you.”

“How exactly are you going to do that?”

“There’s a bet.”

“What?” Rachel froze. 

“A bet. First person to keep you talking for twenty minutes gets $50. Cosima’s gotten the closest-eight minutes and 42 seconds, but she’s got an unfair advantage since you have to talk to her to order and pay and shit. So, if you want it all to stop, just come and have a drink with me.”

“I’m not going back in there.”

“Ah come on, be a good sport.”

“I’m mortified.”

“But you want it to stop, yeah?”

“Yes”

“So come and have a drink with me. Easy peasy and it’s over.”

“Fine, but somewhere else.”

“How ‘bout yours?” said Sarah with a grin as she pointed up the hill at Rachel’s building.

“You know where I live?”

“It’s a small town Rachel.”

“I don’t know where you live.”

“Now see, that’s exactly the sort of thing you can ask me while we’re havin’ a drink at your place.” 

Rachel clutched the bridge of her nose and exhaled heavily. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“If I must.”

Yeah!” whooped Sarah. 

“Dear god. I’ve changed my mind.”

Sarah burst out laughing. Rachel gave her a withering glare. 

Sarah sobered, “Sorry, but you want it to stop, yeah?”

Rachel looked up at the heavens before eventually muttering, “Yes.”

“Well, let’s go then.”

They walked the rest of the way in awkward silence.

***

Rachel opened the door to her condo, flicked on the lights and ushered Sarah in while resisting the intense urge to ask Sarah to remove her filthy black motorcycle boots. 

“Nice” barked Sarah as she shrugged out of her black leather jacket, tossed it on the couch and took in Rachel’s pristine living room in the round. The furnishings were an antiseptic monochrome white but the walls were dotted with vibrant oil paintings. 

“Bourbon?” asked Rachel as she crossed over to the well-appointed bar.   
“Yeah.” said Sarah who had gotten up to take a closer look at Rachel’s paintings. “Eh, these are great. That’s the Bee, right?” said Sarah pointing at one of a black and yellow lobster boat.

“It is.”

“You gotta show Cal. He’d love it. I’ve seen ya painting down at the harbor, but didn’t know you were painting the boats. Thought it was like the trees and shit like everybody else.”

“Yes, I like to paint the boats” said Rachel quietly as she unwrapped the cellophane around the wooden stopper on a bottle of Michters and poured two fingers of bourbon into a rocks glass. Rachel then pulled the cork out of an open bottle of red wine and poured herself a glass before handing Sarah her drink.

“Well, cheers, then” said Sarah as she clinked her glass against the wine glass in Rachel’s other hand.

“Cheers” replied Rachel somewhat belatedly before quickly retreating to the couch. “Won’t you sit down.”

“Yeah sure” Sarah obliged. Another awkward silence ensued. 

Sarah took a drink of her bourbon and smacked her lips, “Good stuff.”

“Thank you” breathed Rachel. 

“So why’d you move here? From Boston, yeah?”

“How do you know that?”

“Cosima told me.”

“Oh...I suppose I needed a fresh start.”

“I can relate.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“So you’re book…it’s about clones?”

“Yes.”

“Why clones?”

“Well, Sarah, I suppose I find the science and ethics of human cloning fascinating and I also really enjoy thinking about the nature/nurture debate. You know, personality as a social construct and the like.”

“Oh like twin studies, yeah? I bet they’d have a field day with me & Helena.”

“Precisely!” Rachel’s face lit up, “You’re genetically identical, but you obviously weren’t raised together….” 

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” 

Rachel noticeably deflated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright. Everybody wonders about it. Best as we can tell, our birth mum gave us up after we were born and we ended in the foster care system in London. Helena got adopted right away by this couple who moved to Ukraine. I bounced around til I was eight or so and then got adopted by my foster mum. Helena’s adoptive parents got killed in a car crash so she ends up back in the system in Ukraine and gets sent to this rotten convent. They were awful to her. When she turned 17, she nicked her files and ran way. She tracked me down when we were 22 and we been together ever since.”

“Fascinating. So however did you end up a boat captain?”

“Well, Siobhan, she’s my foster mum, took up sterning on a lobster boat after we moved here. Eventually, she saved up enough to get her own boat and bought the Janie. She used to bring me and my brother Felix with her in the summers when she went out, so I learned pretty young. O’course, I ran off and did a bunch of stupid shit after high school, but eventually I came back and started working on boats. I guess I have a knack for it. Anyway, when mum died, she left me her boat and I been captain ever since.”

“From what I can tell you more than have a knack for it.”

It was Sarah’s turn to blush. “Thanks. What about you?”

“What would you like to know.”

Sarah grinned, “I dunno, I guess, what do you do for fun?”

“I paint.”

“That it?”

“Yes.” Another awkward silence. 

“I should introduce you to my brother, Felix. He owns the gallery over on Church Street. Do you know it?” asked Sarah as she drained her glass. 

“I do. Would you like another drink?”

“Really?” smiled Sarah. 

“Sure.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, but just so you know we’re at 23 minutes so I won the bet and that means you’re in the clear. I can leave if you want.”

“Completely up to you unless there are side bets to be dealt with” said Rachel with a sly grin as she got up and refilled Sarah’s glass with a generous pour. 

“Well…” smiled Sarah. 

“Spit it out” said Rachel.

“Since I got in your place, that’s an extra hundred and there is this other thing…” Sarah trailed off. 

“Yes” said Rachel drily. 

“Boys or Girls?” 

“How much is this worth?

“$200”

“Interesting. Girls. Although lately it feels like neither. You?”

“I like all sorts of people.”

“So I’ve gathered” smirked Rachel, “Sarah, tell me--where is it that you reside? As you say, it’s a small town and I honestly haven’t a clue.”

“Well,” Sarah stood up and sat back down right next to Rachel. Her knee and shoulder grazing against Rachel’s. “Sometimes…I stay with friends. Sometimes I crash on the boat. Sometimes I stay with Helena—she’s fixin’ up this old camp back in the woods up around the point.“

“I see.” A companionable silence. 

“Eh, you ever paint the Janie?” 

“I have.”

“Can I see it?” 

“I don’t know, can you?”

“Eh?” said Sarah confused.

“Sorry. Bad joke. Come with me. It’s upstairs” Rachel got up and began walking up a spiral staircase to the second floor.” Sarah knocked back her drink with a grin and followed. When they got to the top of the stairs, Rachel kicked off her heels and gently opened the door leading to her bedroom. Sarah followed Rachel’s gaze to the painting hanging beside her bed. It was an abstract rendering of the Janie Jones complete with Helena standing at the stern with her distinctive shock of blond hair. 

“Woah…That’s awesome.”

“Thank you” 

Sarah turned to Rachel and gently reached out for Rachel’s hand. Rachel didn’t pull back. “This alright?”

“Yes” 

Then, surprising herself, Rachel leaned forward and kissed Sarah on the lips. 

"Really?" said Sarah.

"Only if you want to."

Sarah let out a big bark of a laugh “Oh you’re dead!” and kissed her back. 

***  
Hours later Rachel’s eyes blinked awake. She could sense Sarah moving quietly about the dark room collecting her things. She glanced at her bedside clock. It was 4:30 in the morning and Sarah was pulling on her jeans. Rachel smoothed the cool cotton sheets over her body, arousal still lingering from the night before and whispered, “Good morning, Sarah.”

“Oh, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you. I gotta meet Helena at the boat at 5:30. We’re gonna do five days in Block Canyon and I gotta stop for bait and supplies before. Otherwise…”

“I understand.”

Sarah was tugging on her boots with some effort. When she was done, she leaned over and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “It was nice meeting you Rachel Duncan.”

“Sarah….”

“Yeah?”

“If you wanted…we could….”

“Yeah we should. I got one condition though, you gotta start being a bit more friendly at the Barnacle. Can you handle that?”

“I’ll try.” 

“Good.”

“So I guess I’ll see you next Saturday?”

“Yeah. You will.” Sarah walked to the door. “Later then.”

“Sarah, one more thing?”

“Yeah?”

“How much for sleeping with me?”

Rachel could see Sarah grinning like a Cheshire cat in the pre-dawn light, “$500, but that's not why.”

“Well, I do hope you’ll share it with me”

“Nah. Not gonna tell ‘em.”

“Really? Why not?” 

“Where’s the fun in that?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later...

Another Saturday night and Rachel was sitting at the bar finishing her sole meuniere and taking small sips of a delightful unoaked chardonnay. The food and wine were (as always) delicious, however, the atmosphere at the Barnacle that evening was, to put it mildly, rather off-putting. It was late July, the height of the tourist season, and the place was packed. The sort of night where people crowded the bar area waiting for tables, the jukebox played nonstop and you had to shout to be heard. Not at all Rachel’s cup of tea. She vastly preferred the sleepy calm of the offseason, but the noise and the crowd were far from the only things bothering her at present. 

Shortly after Rachel had ordered her food, Sarah had turned up with her unsavory looking friend, Tony Sawicki. They were both visibly inebriated and things only escalated from there as they joined the other lobstermen for more drinks and shots. Tony was an infrequent patron of the Barnacle. Rachel had once heard him say it was a little too “stuffy” for his liking. He worked as a boat mechanic at the marina. However, Beth had suggested he also trafficked in other less lawful endeavors. Otherwise, he seemed harmless--a blustery cheerful sort and a shameless flirt. As Rachel had never actually seen anyone in real life with both a gold tooth and a mullet, she was toying with the idea of making him a minor character in her book. 

After a bit Sarah drifted over, “Alright Rachel?” She grazed her knuckles along Rachel’s back. 

Rachel stiffened. “Hello, Sarah. You seem to be rather enjoying yourself this evening.” 

“I am” replied Sarah with a smirk. She swayed a little on her feet as she took a healthy swig of her beer. 

“I noticed you and Helena haven’t gone out these last few days. Everything alright with the boat?” 

“Engine’s actin’ up again, and the compressor’s broke. Waitin’ on a part.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. What have you been doing instead?”

“Not much…mending traps, cleaning the boat, repainting the buoys...Honestly, I’m bored out of my fuckin’ skull.”

“Hence the drinking.”

”Yeah I s’pose,” chuckled Sarah, “Anyway, you should come and have a drink with us.”

“No…thank you. I’m afraid I’m not feeling very social this evening.”

“Maybe I’ll see you later then?” 

“That seems like a terrible idea.” 

“No it doesn’t” laughed Sarah as walked away. 

They’d been shagging for the last six months, but had not once discussed their relationship. They weren’t exactly dating. They almost exclusively saw each other at the Barnacle. They’d have a drink together, but Rachel typically went home hours before Sarah left the bar. However, once, sometimes twice a week, Sarah would turn up at Rachel’s condo later in the evening and Rachel usually allowed it. In fact, if she was being honest, she liked the element of surprise involved. She suspected Sarah did too.

Lately, however, she’d been giving more and more thought to the arrangement. She wasn’t delusional. She knew Sarah didn’t want anything exclusive; maybe wasn’t even capable of something exclusive. Either way, on nights like this she wasn’t even sure what she wanted. In the light of day, the notion of pursuing a relationship was patently absurd. They had absolutely nothing in common in terms of their backgrounds, appearance, hobbies or interests. In fact, other than an encyclopedic knowledge of lobster fishing, it was unclear whether Sarah actually had any interests beyond living in the moment. After six months of careful observation, it was exceedingly clear that when Sarah wasn’t working, if it felt good, she did it. Full stop. End of story. Most of the time Rachel could barely take out the trash without creating an excel spreadsheet to assess all variables. And yet, there was something so liberating about these temporary forays into Sarah-land where one just cannonballed into things. Well that and the sex was bloody fantastic.

After she’d finished her dinner, Rachel looked over and saw Tony sitting catatonic at the bar—Cosima had already called his partner Sammy to pick him up--and Sarah was making an absolute spectacle of herself on the dance floor undulating between a rough looking man and women Rachel had never seen. Rachel sighed and signaled a harried Cosima for her check. Cosima, who was being run off her feet tonight, mouthed, “Hang on.” Rachel politely nodded. 

Cal Morrison emerged from the crowd and took the barstool next to her. They exchanged a few pleasantries. A few moments later Cosima arrived, handed Rachel her check, and asked Cal if he wanted another beer. 

“No thanks” he replied, “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.” Cal’s eyes flicked over to Sarah and Cosima followed his gaze. 

“I should probably cut her off, huh?” pondered Cosima. 

“Definitely” said Cal and Rachel in unison causing them all to chuckle.

“I must say she is in rare form tonight, no?” said Rachel as she drained the dregs of her wine. 

“That’s an understatement,” sighed Cal.

Just then the song ended and Sarah lurched over, slapped her hand on the other side of the wooden bar and shouted “Eh Cos, three more, yeah?” 

“Wish me luck” said Cosima under her breath as she crossed over to the other side of the bar. “Sorry Sar, no can do.”

“Wut? Why? 

“You know why” deadpanned Cosima as she gestured to Tony. 

“Ah piss off! He’s the one who’s fucked up. Not me!” slurred Sarah. 

“Sorry, dude. You’re done. Want me to call Felix?” 

“No” spat Sarah in a derisive tone, “And this is bullshit…And we’re gonna talk about it later" she huffed.

“Can’t wait” said Cosima in a patronizing tone with a heavy eye roll. 

Sarah glared at Cosima, turned on her heel and ran smack into another customer who just stared at her with a look of alarm. Sarah shouted “What the hell are you lookin’ at?” to the poor guy and then made her unsteady way back to her new “friends.” She pulled them off the dance floor and ushered them toward the door while shouting, “I’m bored. Les get out of here. We can drink on my boat.” 

“Try not to fall in!” shouted Cosima in a mock cheerful tone. 

Sarah responded with an obscene finger gesture in Cosima’s general direction. 

“Well, that was something.” said Rachel. 

“Yeah,” replied Cal, “How does it go?…and when she was good, she was very very good…”

“And when she was bad she was horrid,” finished Rachel with a chuckle. 

“Exactly” said Cal. “You know…she’s actually mellowed over the years if you can believe it.”

“Well, that is a frightening prospect,” said Rachel. She began gathering her things to leave, but then stopped. “May I ask you something? I’m afraid it’s a bit personal," 

“Well, haven’t you come a long way ‘Ms. I don’t talk to anyone!’” he grinned, “Okay. Shoot.”

“What is she to you?”

“Oh man,” Cal chuckled, “Hell if I know. I’ve been trying to figure that one out for years. It’s like she’s always just out of reach and by now I should know better, but some people just have your number. Know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“So what’s she to you?” asked Cal. 

Rachel cocked her head to the side and paused. “Vexing.”

***

2am and Rachel stirred awake to the sound of pounding on her front door. She would be inclined to ignore it, but assuming her fine motor skills were intact, Sarah would probably begin picking the lock shortly. Rachel stood, took a deep centering breath and grabbed her robe. By the time she got to the front door, the pounding had stopped. Rachel opened the door to find Sarah leaning unsteadily against the door frame with her eyes closed. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” rapped Rachel. 

Sarah’s eyes popped open. “Eh, you’re up!” said Sarah with a sloppy grin. 

“I was not.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No” chuckled Sarah, “I’m not.” Sarah quickly closed the distance between them, pressed her warm mouth up against Rachel's exposed collar bone and began working her way up her neck while simultaneously attempting to undo the sash on Rachel's robe. Rachel gave into it for a moment before she found her resolve and pulled back. “No, stop.”

“Fine” groaned Sarah as she stumbled backward and sat down heavily on the couch. 

Rachel walked into the kitchen, filled a glass with water and set it down in front of Sarah before sitting in the armchair on the other side of the room. 

“As I’ve told you before, I don’t want to be with you when you’re out of control especially when…well…Anyway, please drink the water. Then go.”

Sarah leaned forward and drained her water glass with mock obedience and then slumped back with a lazy grin. “You know what I like about you, Rachel?” 

“Honestly I haven’t a clue.”

“How you always pretend not to want the things you want.”

“You don’t have a clue what I want” snapped Rachel. Then she stood up and began ascending her stairs. “Go home Sarah.” 

Rachel went into her room, unsure if Sarah would try to follow. When thirty minutes had passed, Rachel ventured out to make sure Sarah had locked the door, but found her curled up asleep on Rachel’s couch. Rachel made sure she was on her side, removed her boots and covered her with a blanket. 

***

The next morning Rachel got up to go running at 6am. After striking up a conversation with Beth Childs one night at the Barnacle last spring about trail running, she found herself training with Beth’s running club for the Bangor Marathon. Today was to be their ten mile run and it was nothing short of painful given her lack of sleep. When she returned, Sarah was still snoring on the couch. Rachel began making coffee. She made zero effort to keep it quiet. Sarah began to stir. 

“Oh shit” moaned Sarah as she sat up taking in her surroundings. 

“Good morning, Sarah. You’ll find a glass of water and two Tylenol on the coffee table.”

“Cheers” she mumbled as she tossed back the pills and chased it with several gulps of water.

“Would you like some eggs? Perhaps an omelet?”

“You really don’t have to do that” she croaked as she massaged her temples. 

“I know, but I do actually like to cook and so rarely have the opportunity since you’re my only regular visitor and you normally leave before sunrise.” Rachel began breaking eggs into a bowl. “Out of curiosity, do you recall coming over here last night?” 

“No…” Sarah groaned, “Shit…I should just go, yeah?”

“If you like, but Sarah, I’m not angry. In fact, I would like to ask you to come back tonight--at a reasonable hour, please” she added drily, “I’d like to make you dinner even though I know this goes against all the unspoken rules of our little arrangement. Shall we say 7pm?”

Sarah sighed. “Sure, I guess.” 

***  
7:00pm came and went. Rachel began to worry that Sarah might stand her up. At 7:20pm, however, she heard a knock on her door. Sarah was dressed in her usual denim and leather, but it appeared she had showered and run a comb through her hair. She looked worn out and seemed a bit on edge, like she’d gotten in trouble and been summoned to the principal’s office at school. 

“Sorry I’m late” she mumbled to her shoes. 

“It’s fine. Come in, Sarah.” 

Rachel gestured to the pot bubbling away on the stove. “I hope you like mussels.” 

“Yeah. Smells nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it? It’s the saffron.”

“Oh yeah?”

Rachel returned to the kitchen, ladled out two steaming bowls and put them on the elaborately set dinner table. On one side there was a green salad, a cheese platter and bowl of toasted sourdough bread from a bakery. On the other side there were candles, a bottle of wine and a bottle of sparkling water. Sarah’s eyes widened when she saw all the silverware and glasses. She sat down, “Jeez, you really went to town.” 

Rachel smiled. “As I said this morning, I like to cook and it’s not very fun to cook for one. Would you like something to drink? Of course, this wine pairs quite well with the dish, but I also have some of the beer you seem to favor.”

“Wine’s a bit wasted on me. A beer would be great.”

Rachel went back into the kitchen, handed Sarah a beer and primly sat down. Rachel then began delicately plucking the mussels out of their shells. Sarah fidgeted and drank her beer while studiously avoiding all eye contact with Rachel.  
Finally, Sarah blurted out, “Hey, sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have come crashin’ in here like that. I know you don’t like that sort of thing. So if this is all to tell me to stop coming over. You can just tell me now, yeah.”

Rachel smiled. “Sarah, I can honestly say I’ve never seen you look quite so uncomfortable. And as much fun as it would be to continue watching you squirm. No, I haven’t asked you over for that purpose at all. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something you said last night.”

“Christ, wha’d I say?”

“You said, the thing you like best about me is how hard I pretend not to want things.”

“Sorry. Don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s fine. It’s probably true, but what I was wondering is why ever you would like that about me?” 

“I dunno. I say stupid shit all the time.”

“No, actually, you don’t. You’re quite clever about most things. Although you probably do owe Cosima an apology from last night. You were rather childish when she cut you off.”

Sarah blushed. “Oh shit, really? Yeah, alright.”

“So what did you mean?’

Sarah took a deep breath. “I think” she exhaled, “I probably meant was that it’s sorta fun to convince you to give in and enjoy yourself a little. It’s like you need a little push.”

“I do. And it’s one of the reasons I enjoy your company.”

“But not the only reason, yeah?” grinned Sarah.

“No, it’s definitely not the only reason” smiled Rachel. 

“Now Sarah, may I be honest with you about something?”

“Okay…”

“I’ve been giving it some thought and wonder if another reason I’ve allowed you into my bed is because, there’s very little risk that you view it as anything other than transactional. I wonder if the same thought has occurred to you.” 

“Rachel…”

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t…usually think about stuff like that. Are you asking if I come over just to shag?”

“No, what I’m saying is I keep people at bay. I think you do too. I’m sure we’ve both got our reasons and this isn’t a therapy session, but when you said that last night I had an epiphany…”

“A what?”

“Sorry, a moment of insight. What if you like coming over here for the same reason I let you—because neither one of us can imagine the other person wants anything more. But here’s the thing. I don’t like most people, but I like you. So, I’m going to tell you what I want. What I actually want.”

“What’s that?”

“More.”

“More? Like how? Like be a couple?”

“I don’t know exactly. I just think more of you would be better than less….So, if you’ll allow it, I would like to see a bit more of you.” 

“Rachel, I don't really do relationships…I…I…fuck ‘em up.”

“So do I.”

“And…I don’t just come here for, you know, sex. It’s more than that, but I’m just not sure I can commit to…like everything….you know?”

“You don’t have to be sure. We don’t even have to define this thing. We’re adults and we can make our own rules.”

“So you just want us to do more stuff, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Well, to begin, I’d like to cook for you from time to time. I also want you to take me out on your boat and show me what it’s like. And I know this is last minute, but I want you come with me to my Uncle Aldous’s wedding tomorrow in Bar Harbor as my date.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes” Rachel took a sip of wine. 

“Alright. What the hell? It could be fun, yeah?”

“Please temper your expectations. It's my family after all.” smirked Rachel, “But Sarah, may I ask, is there anything you want?”

Sarah sat back and grinned, “Well, what I want is a little more immediate.”

“Oh, do tell.”

“Well, first off, I’m starving so let’s eat before all this goes cold. Then, since you like me an all,” Sarah smirked, “I plan to take you upstairs and slowly but thoroughly, take you apart.”

“No objections here. And then what?”

“And then we’ll have a sleep and drive up to Bar Harbor tomorrow for this wedding thing.”

***

Later that evening when they were both spent and laying side by side (Rachel on her back, Sarah on her stomach) Rachel began lightly tracing circles on Sarah’s back and enjoying the afterglow. Sarah usually fought sleep like a toddler, all fidgeting and restless, but not tonight. Tonight she was perfectly still and sleep was slowly dragging her under. 

“Sarah?”

“Hmm?” 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Christ, she wants to keep talking” she mumbled. 

“Why do you really come over?”

Sarah rolled over and gave her a sleepy smile. “Dunno, really. It’s probably these sheets. They’re amazing.”

“Sarah...”

“Alright. I think...It’s sort of like I’m on holiday in someone else’s life. Like I get to pretend I’m the sort of person who could have someone like you just for a little bit. Do you know what I mean?”

Rachel leaned in and kissed her. ”I do.”

“Now can we go to sleep, yeah?”

“Of course.”

***  
The next morning, Rachel woke with a start. Sarah was gone leaving a note in her place: “If we’re going to Bar Harbor, I’m driving. Went to get the truck. Pick you up at 11am.”

Rachel got up, showered and began packing her overnight bag. She slipped on a casual linen shift dress that she knew was flattering and packed a different more elegant gold satin sheeth to change into for the wedding. 

When Sarah pulled up in her god-awful truck, Rachel got momentarily carried away by the delicious thought of seeing her mother’s horrified reaction to their arrival. She smiled as she carefully arranged her garment bag in the back seat, but then got in and frowned. Sarah was wearing the same dark jeans and a tee shirt as she had been the night before. Rachel glanced around for an overnight bag and seeing none, gently inquired, “Ah, Sarah…before we go, would you like to borrow something from my closet for the wedding? We’re almost the same size…I’m sure I can find something suitable….”

“What are you talkin’ about??” barked Sarah, “Can’t I wear this?”

“Er…well…you see…” stammered Rachel as she tried to think of a tactful response. 

Then, Sarah burst out laughing. “I’m just fucking with you. We’re gonna stop off at Helena’s camp so I can change and grab my things. It’s kinda on the way. ‘Sides I think you’ll like seeing it. It’s pretty cool.”

***

After they had driven north from the city for about ten minutes, Sarah turned off a paved county road and began winding her way through a heavily wooded area on a gravel road. After another ten minutes or so, they came upon a wooden gate that had been painted purple. Sarah got out and opened it and they continued driving as the woods grew denser until finally they crested a hill and came to a large clearing in the woods. Rachel wasn’t sure what she was expecting. People in Maine call everything from dilapidated one room fishing shanties to palatial six bedroom timber-frame homes “camps.” But this “camp” was a beautifully situated cottage overlooking an idyllic meadow and a beautiful pond. The cottage was forest green with a neat white trim and was dripping with colorful impatiens overflowing from flower boxes mounted below the windows. A flagstone path led down through the meadow to the lake with beautifully tended flower beds flanking it the whole way down. When they pulled in, Helena emerged from a massive greenhouse followed by a large fluffy white Great Pyrenees dog. 

“Sestra! You brought Rachel! A most wonderful surprise!”

“Yeah. We’re goin’ up to Bar Harbor for a wedding and I need to get cleaned up and changed. Can you and Ani show her around?” 

“Yes, of course. Come Ani, we must show Rachel our friends in the barn.” The dog dutifully followed as Helena gestured toward a tidy red barn. 

Of all the regulars at the Barnacle, Rachel always had the most trouble speaking to Helena. She just didn’t know what to make of the exuberant absurdity of her and frankly found her a bit intimidating. It turned out this was all rather silly. Helena was all proud smiles as she took Rachel on a tour of her astounding property. She kept a flock of fat brown chickens and goats in one side of the barn and a workshop for mending their lobster gear on the other. She had a greenhouse overflowing with giant heirloom tomatoes, eggplants, squash and zucchini as well as a section of strange exotic flowers. Down by the water, there was a small boathouse, a wooden boat with an outboard motor, a canoe, a diving dock and a zipline that ran from a tree on the top of the hill for splashing down into the lake. She even kept bees and bottled her own honey. In the winter she tapped her maple trees and made her own syrup. 

After the tour was over, they sat in the middle of the meadow in large green Adirondack chairs around a fire pit. As if the property was just trying to show off, as they were sitting there a mother moose and two of her calves eased themselves into pond for drink. 

“Helena this is absolutely lovely. Did you build all of this?"

“Most of it, and thank you. May I offer you something to drink? Perhaps some tea? You can try my honey if you like.”

“I would like that very much.” Rachel sat and enjoyed the breeze and pondered the mystery of people.

A few moments later Helena came back and handed Rachel a chipped mug of tea and sat back down. 

“Now Rachel, you and Sarah…this wedding. What does this mean?”

“I don’t know exactly, but perhaps we’ll find out.”

“Hmm…well, what I know is when my sestra has been with you, she is much less grouchy on the boat. With other people, she comes back all used up, like empty tube of toothpaste, but with you, she comes back more full. Do you know what I mean?”

“Perhaps.”

Just then Helena’s face lit up and she began waving excitedly to someone behind Rachel. Rachel turned around to find a girl cresting the hill with a walking stick and carrying a small plant. 

“Veera, come and meet Rachel. She is…well…she is Sarah’s…I don’t know, but come meet her!”

Rachel recognized the girl immediately, but not from the Barnacle. She was one of the Scandinavian girls who ran the organic farm stand just outside of town. They also had a popular booth at the local farmer’s market. 

“Veera, this is Rachel. Rachel, Veera and her cousin Nicki live across the road and she is my best friend in the whole world other than my sestra of course. She comes every Sunday for lunch and to go hikings with me.“

Veera looked like she was probably in her early thirties, but she was dressed more like a tween on her way home from school circa 2003. 

“Hello, Rachel. I have, of course, seen you before. You usually come to the farm stand between 7am and 7:15am on Saturday mornings but you did not come yesterday,” she said shyly as she smoothed her hair over her face to hide what appeared to be some facial scarring. 

“Hello, Veera. Pleased to meet you. I’ve very much been enjoyed your produce and herbed goat cheese since I’ve moved to Camden.”

“That comes from my goats!” boomed Helena excitedly. 

“Does it really? How wonderful.”

“Yes, Veera looks after the animals for me while I am out fishing with Sarah. Along with my precious Ani, of course, who is very fierce protector and a very good girl” said Helena as she stroked the massive dog’s head. Ani, then flopped dramatically down on the ground and flipped over shamelessly begging for a belly rub. Helena immediately dropped down on the ground beside the dog and began enthusiastically rubbing her belly while cackling loudly. Veera dissolved into giggles beside them. 

“Oi, what’s all this” called Sarah as she emerged from the house. 

Rachel turned to see Sarah and nearly fell out of her chair in surprise. Sarah looked stunning. She was wearing a lovely pair of black, high-waisted, tie front, wide-leg trousers, a fitted, well-tailored, black blouse with a plunging neckline that was actually tucked in and a pair of black leather high-heeled boots. As she got closer Rachel could see she had accessorized the ensemble with an interesting bronze necklace, dangly matching earrings and a stack of colorful beaded bracelets snaking up one arm. She’d also tamed her hair into an elegant knot and had carefully applied her make-up to great effect. 

“You look awesome, sestra” said Helena. 

“Yes. Very nice, Sarah” chimed in Veera.

Turning to face Rachel, “This alright?”

“Where is Sarah Manning and what have you done with her?” 

“Ha-ha, very funny. I can dress up when I want to. It’s just that usually I don’t want to, yeah?”

“Good to know” smirked Rachel.

“Should we get going?” said Sarah.

Rachel stood up and smoothed her dress. “Yes. Thank you, Helena for sharing your secret garden with me and of course, it was lovely to meet you too Veera. Enjoy your hike.”

Rachel got into the old truck still at a bit of a loss for words.

“Well, that was…”

“Weird?” suggested Sarah. 

“I was going to say unexpected.” exhaled Rachel.

“You said you wanted more. I thought showing you this was good place to start” smiled Sarah as she fired up the truck. 

“No, the place to start was that blouse” smirked Rachel. 

Sarah laughed as she eased the truck into the gravel lane. 

“Seriously, though, this wedding. Am I gonna meet your mother? I’m not good with parents.”

“You will.” 

“And you’re out to her, yeah?” 

“I am.”

“And you’re not just havin’ me come to wind her up?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you--although I confess it will be an added bonus. I actually want you to meet my Uncle Aldous. The wedding will be ridiculous. This is his third marriage and the woman isn’t even half his age, but he practically raised me for good or for ill and for once, I’d like… she paused “I want…to bring an actual date to one of these family affairs. And perhaps to have a bit of fun.”

Sarah smiled to herself. “We can do that. But don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Well, maybe not your best behavior.”

Sarah smirked as she reached over and placed her hand on Rachel’s thigh. “If you insist.”


End file.
